Zydrate Comes in a Little Glass Vial
by willowema
Summary: In the terrifying future with repo men and repossessed organs comes a zydrate addict, Nicole. She and her boyfriend, Everett, must manage to remain elusive from the all-powerful GeneCo, or else they will all die.
1. Part One: Somewhere in Your Anatomy

_i. _

I hiss in anticipation as the woman, a graverobber, stalks around me in circles, the zydrate gun clenched in her hand. I can almost taste the icy blue concoction, feel the relaxation of my muscles as the addictive substance emanates onto me. The glass vial is locked into the gun. The woman simply needs to pull the trigger with the gun pressed against my waist, and I'll be in bliss again.

The woman is scarily beautiful; perfect by anyone's set of standards. I wonder how many surgeries she's had. Dark eyeliner rims both of her eyes, and shaggy bangs hang low on her forehead. She's wearing fishnet elbow gloves, and lingerie made out of black leather.

I moan, the pain becoming almost unbearable now. My body yearns for the zydrate; I've been without it much too long.

A flicker of amusement flashes across the graverobber's face for a split second, and I can see that she's testing me, teasing me. Her eyes narrow as she allows another step towards me, the zydrate gun trailing across my too-thin lips. "Another surgery?" she asks me mockingly. "This must be your twentieth, if I'm not mistaken. I see you around here fairly often."

Helplessly, I nod quickly. Anything to get the zydrate back into my system. "Make—make me skinnier, please. And give me the turquoise eyes graft. Please!"

"Sixty grand." The graverobber looks at the zydrate gun, then sits down on me, just below my hips, arching her back. "Stay on top of your payments. We wouldn't want the repo man to come, now would we?" Before I can respond, the woman presses the zydrate gun against my waist and pulls the trigger.

Everything blurs together, all the colors swirling into each other, and I'm happy again, my bloodstream brimming with all the zydrate.

I'm vaguely aware of the surgeons hovering over my face and my torso, murmuring words I can't comprehend in this state. "More zydrate!" One growls at another. "Her eyes are opening!" Another vial of zydrate is injected into me, and I'm nearly unconscious now.

I'm limp, boneless. The surgeons have secured me with ropes well enough so that I don't roll over, but I still can't fight the feeling of plummeting continuously off a cliff, even as I sink deeper into my trance.

_ii._

I'm leaning against a cracked wall, still completely limp, the whole world blurry. The zydrate is still pounding through my veins, urging me to get up. Instead, I fall to the side, my head landing on someone's lap. My new turquoise eyes gaze up at the unfamiliar male face inquisitively. "I- I'm sorry." My voice cracks as I try to raise my head up again.

"No, it's fine." He smiles at me. "You can stay there."

"Thanks." My muscles are still noodle-like, and it would be senseless to sit up anyhow. I'd just fall over again.

The man- he's nearly perfect, with full lips, black hair, and thickened eyebrows which accent his golden-brown eyes. There's a nearly imperceptible scar on his earlobe, though, and there's a slight amount of stubble on his chin.

"How many surgeries have you had so far?" I ask.

"None, actually. This is my first one." He nods at me, as if further convincing me.

"No!" I gasp, the words out of my loose lips before I can stop them. "I mean, no way. Wow, that's pretty insane." The zydrate has turned me into a babbling idiot. Fortunately, I don't tell him straight-out how perfect he is.

"It's true." He shrugs. "So, d'you just have it done right here?" He motions towards where he's sitting.

"Yeah. These are the surgeries performed using zydrate via black market, so you don't really expect high-class treatment around here- oh!" My mouth opens, forming a perfect 'o' shape as the man is injected, unexpectedly, with a vial of zydrate, my head still resting on his lap.

"What'dwe do with this other one?" A gruff voice asks behind me.

"Another shot of zydrate. She's already addicted, so why not?" The graverobber responds. "I don't think she'll be moving anywhere soon, of her own accord anyway."

A third injection of zydrate, albeit weaker this time, enters my bloodstream, allowing my body to relax, making my eyesight blurry again. My perception of time is distorted while in the zydrate-induced trance, because suddenly, the man's surgery is finished, and I'm moving my lips towards his still-perfect face.

He's returning the favor, and our lips touch- fire and ice. He opens up his mouth, and my tongue slips inside easily, exploring. We kiss fiercely, urgently, as if there's no time left in the world.

There's a scoff from next to us. It's the female graverobber who first injected me with the zydrate. "Get a room, guys. Please, I don't need to see two horny teenagers sucking face while I'm working."

The man blushes. "Sorry," he apologizes. "We'll leave. Come on." His voice is light as he stands up, then offers a hand to me.

I hesitate for a split second, then grab onto his hand and stand up. My legs are wobbly, and I need to hang onto the man for support.

He flashes a piercingly white smile at me. "I'm Everett; you?"

I return the smile, something I haven't done in a long time. "Nicole."

iii.

Slowly, I pace around the small room, eyelids tilted downwards slightly as I examine the bed. "It'll do," I say, mustering my sexiest voice. This isn't hard to do, with the zydrate still in me and all. With zydrate flooding my veins, nurturing my cells, I'm looser, happier; have fewer inhibitions.

"It'll more than do, Nicole," Everett scoffs incredulously. "It's fine." He sits down on the bed, laying his head on the pillows; his outstretched legs hanging off.

Smiling, I take off my metal bracelet, hitting the microscopic off button, so I can't receive any angry calls from _GeneCo_. I set it on the wooden desk that's next to a mirror, and examine myself for a quick second before sitting on the bed next to Everett.

Made brave by the injection of zydrate, perhaps, I lean down upon him and press my lips to his passionately. I close my eyes, inhaling, memorizing his wonderful scent. Strawberries, honeyed milk, and pure zydrate. Kissing more fiercely, I lower my body onto his, wrapping my legs around his hips and squeezing them together tightly.

Everett returns the kiss, tapping me on my nose lightly. "Let's not get carried away, Nicole," he teases, winking as his hand skims down my back to clutch my ass.

"Don't be fickle. You either like it or not, damn it!" I hold onto one of his hands, guiding it slowly to my jeans zipper, making him unbutton my pants. "See? Zydrate addicts can have some fun, too," I imply.

"That's the only kind of fun you can have… Did you see that graverobber? She was almost half naked!" Everett's warm amber eyes meet mine expectantly as he removes my skinny jeans.

I shiver, the iciness running down my spine to my toes, and then continue to kiss him, starting at his jawbone and working my way down, inch by inch, to his jeans button, which I plant my lips on sweetly. "It _is_ the zydrate, you know," I say. "I can't help it. Neither can you."

"I know I can't." Everett's voice is husky, and down nearly half an octave as he removes my black shirt. "It's… even worse for me, you know. That was my first time ever being injected with the stuff. And now-" He sighs. "I want more."

"And you can have more," I tell him, pulling our bodies even closer together as if I'm attempting to merge them.

"You, and zydrate? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me." He closes his eyes, and engulfs my body with kissing.

_iv. _

"I need a job." I stare pointedly at the graverobber. "Whether you like it or not." Placing my hands on my hips, I narrow my eyes.

"You'll steal it, or get caught," she tells me. "I know you, Nicole. You can't be around the stuff without going into withdrawal."

"How do you know? That's just in the salon, when I haven't had it in awhile. I'm sure I can handle it- I'm only going to be near it for fifteen minutes. Fifteen damn minutes, Leslie." Internally, I groan. The graverobber is clutching a bag, brimming with glass vials of zydrate. In her back pocket, I know, is a specialized zydrate gun. But I have to hold myself back.

"It's too pure for you. The liquid will be seeping out of the body, and you won't be ale to stop yourself. As soon as you perform the injection, you'll pass out and get us all slaughtered." Leslie argues. "You'll be carrying around a zydrate bag at all times. How do I know that you're just not going to use it on yourself?"

"Because," I state simply. "Listen, I owe you twenty grand. That's only thirty vials of zydrate, thirty victims. Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll be able to hop upon a disposal truck. There are loads of bodies there, just waiting for me." Pausing for a moment, I continue, "And I'm already trained. I've done this before."

"Fine. But if you fuck this up, we're all dead. Rotti and his henchmen will murder us before we have the chance to plead innocent." Leslie glares, handing me a leather bag filled with empty zydrate vials. In a zipped pocket, there's a zydrate gun.

I snatch the bag away from her and stalk off, before she can try to change her mind.

Sprinting quietly through the shadowed alley, I set off towards the north-most area of the graveyard; there won't be as many repo men lurking around. They figure that we won't bother to travel that far away from the main part of the town.

As I reach the graveyard, I duck down behind one of the gravestones cautiously, peering around in all directions. Off in the distance, there's a slow-moving flashlight, but the light isn't advancing terribly quickly. I reckon that it's just a repo man scanning the area, but he's pretty far off. I'll be safe for the moment.

I'm not going to waste my time actually digging out a casket; besides, I didn't even think to bring a shovel. _Stupid idiot, stupid, stupid_. I'll just raid the family coffins that are above ground- it's easier.

Grimacing at the screeching noise it makes as I push the top off, I reach inside and pull out a dead body. Using gloves I find in the graverobber bag, I unwind the gauze that is wrapped around the rotted face. I attempt to ignore the smell, grabbing a vial and placing it inside of a needle. I stick the needle in the nasal area, extracting shining blue liquids.

"My first graverobbery," I smile, proud at this feat, dropping the filled vial into the bag, repeating the process again with the next dead body.

_v. _

Everett looks at me, pained, but doesn't open his mouth to speak.

"What is it? You can tell me!" I try to coax it out of him. "I've known you- we've been together for seven and a half months. I won't tell anyone, I swear upon my life." I sit next to him, petting his hand.

He shakes his head. "No." It's his first word for over three hours. "You'll hate me. It'll be too frightening…"

"Please, Everett!" I beg, my hands clasped around his now. "**I won't leave you, and I'll stay loyal. I promise.**"

He looks out the window. "Who says you will?" he asks quietly, pondering. "I know it just came out of your mouth, but isn't that the response that comes from the norm?" He hangs his head. "I love you, Nicole, and I know that you love me, but I don't know if that's quite enough."

I make a muffled noise, almost like a pained whine.

"But if you insist. I just don't want you to leave me," Everett concedes finally. "It's multiple things, really."

"Go on…"

"I have a genetic blood disease. It was just discovered last week. I didn't want you to find out, just in case the doctors were incorrect." He sighs as he says this all in one breath. "Yes, that's why I've been drinking that… liquid more often. That's why I've been leaving the house a lot. That's why I've been more distant. That's why." His usually amber eyes are black, and cold. "My doctors work in _GeneCo_."

"_GeneCo_?" I gasp loudly. "But that could get us both killed! You know how the repo men are, Everett!"

"No black market surgeons could figure out the cause of my sudden fatigue and lethargy. I'll be careful, I promise." His voice wavers, and I know he's not certain.


	2. Part 2: Why Are My Genetics Such a Bitch

"What else?" I press him, quieter this time, less forceful, all the while stroking his hand soothingly, an action so unlike my character that it seems unnatural; the way skin brushes against skin.

I realize that I haven't had an injection of zydrate yet in four days, and even though my mind is buzzing frantically, there are none of my usual symptoms present.

Everett is quiet, still staring at his feet, purposely not meeting my eyes. "I'm not sure if this is one hundred percent correct, I mean, the doctors could be wrong, but..." he starts, barely on an audible level. "The doctors did a DNA scan, to see who I could have possibly inherited this blood disease from, you know? Because there have only been a few cases of it ever recorded; it's sickeningly rare." Everett's voice remains in a quiet monotone that frightens me; makes my blood run cold.

His eyes are even stonier now, darker, as if he doesn't want to continue. Everett's lips are pressed together firmly, and creases in his furrowed forehead look like they'll never disappear. He's attempting to be nonchalant about the subject, but failing greatly. If something can bother Everett (and me) this much, it's got to be horrid.

"I..." His voice cracks painfully. "I'm… closely related to... Brother to…" He breaks off, digging his fingernails into his scalp in frustration. "Ugh, I can't even fucking say it, it feels so damn horrible!"

"It?" I ask curiously, slipping an index finger underneath his chin so his eyes meet mine.

"The name. Her name."

"What is meant by 'her'?" I inquire. "And why is she so bad? I can't recall anyone in our history who would possibly earn a bad reputation from you, of all people."

"Shilo. Shilo Wallace."

Those three simple words are enough to make my nails dig into Everett's perfectly sculpted hand as I attempt to stifle an ear-splitting shriek. "Shilo Wallace? Are they sure? But... How? I thought that her mother died while giving birth to her!" I halfway yell in confusion and absolute shock. "How could you be her brother?"

"Marni- was poisoned by my father," Everett corrects automatically. "That's how she died. Nathan gave her the wrong cure." He hangs his head a bit lower, ever-so-slightly, as if in shame. "Apparently, I'm the eldest. Shilo is two years my junior. I-"

I stare at him incredulously, lips pursed in deep thought. "This is crack," I muse to myself. "Complete and utter crack. So my boyfriend is directly related to the owner of GeneCo, the very company we're trying to avoid at all possible costs. Great. Wonderful." I look up at him. "So, we're going to have to skirt the law and GeneCo to get you a cure that doesn't make you die, all while trying not to be killed? Awesome." I mutter sarcastically.

"And there's one more thing." Everett's voice squeaks.

"Yes?"

"Shilo wants me to meet her at the GeneCo headquarters with Rotti. In forty-five minutes." His voice has gone completely flat. "They want me to help Shilo find a cure- for the both of us." He stands up, striding out of the room without saying another word.

"Shit. Zydrate, here I come."

_vi. [Everett] _

I'm more than cautious as I step into the headquarters of GeneCo. My senses are sharpened, muscles taut, ready to spring at any unwarranted movements from the henchmen.

My metal-bottomed shoe clicks with every step I take, the sound choked out by

all of the thick silence hanging in the air. Even so, I wince every time I take a step on this tiled floor.

I approach the desk, remaining a good two feet away from the teenage girl sitting there. She's of a threatening presence, despite the fact that I know her hair is actually a wig covering up her baldness, and the cup of liquid sitting to the right corner on her desk is not tequila, not vodka, it's her blood pressure medicine.

"Hello, Everett. Thank you for coming here today. You may sit." Shilo motions to the chair behind me, her voice clipped, sounding deadpan. She seems detached, with a firm politeness.

"Thank you," I answer gruffly, "But no thank you. I feel much more comfortable standing." I nod, acknowledging her, while I study her face for any signs of treachery. She has a mask plastered on, it seems, I don't think she'll ever let it slip while I'm around.

There's an awkward silence that hangs in the air for a few moments, but it feels

like a few hours before Shilo finally breaks it. "So, I expect you know already why I summoned you here?"

Summoned. It makes her sound like a monarch, not the president of a company. "Yes, I do believe so," I reply stiffly. "We are… siblings." I spit out that disgusting s-word as if it burns my tongue and I can't wait to extinguish the tiny flame inside my mouth.

"The idea of us being related doesn't quite appeal to you." It's not a question; Shilo speaks it as a statement. She can tell that I'm clearly uncomfortable being around her, let alone being in GeneCo. "Why? You should have no reason to feel this way." Shilo tilts her head slightly to the side almost mockingly, as if she knows about the surgeries and all the zydrate injections I've obtained from the black market.

"Oh, for obvious reasons," I say, attempting to stay vague on the subject. "It's just a little strange... Plus, you do have that reputation." I point out to her. "Are you nineteen? I was told that I was two years your senior."

"Right. You're twenty-one, then. We have a two-year age difference."

"I have a question before Rotti comes in. Why didn't I inherit GeneCo? I'm the eldest, after all." I ask, my eyebrows knitting together furiously.

"Your existence was unknown, you remained elusive for some time. There were no recorded DNA tests, and I don't even know if your surgeries are filed here." Shilo throws a manilla file at me. "This is your personal file, Everett. I extracted one certain paper out of it, though, did you notice?"

I shake my head.

"It contains your GeneCo-operated surgeries, Everett. According to it, you have never had a surgery. Is this true?" Her black eyes scan my own, and I wonder how on earth we are siblings.

"Never had one." I stare at her, my head held high as I affirm the false statement. "Have you?"

"No, never." She shakes her head almost sadly. "My condition won't allow it. Nathan—he always told me that I was so beautiful, even without a surgery. Looks like you inherited my good looks." She suspects nothing.

"You mean, you inherited my good looks," I correct her. "I suppose Marni was rather pretty, also."

Before Shilo has a change to respond, Rotti waddles in, two female bodyguards in tow. He nods to both of us as he takes the seat meant for me. I move over to the side, so we form a triangle. "Hello, Shilo… Everett?"

"Yes, that's his name. Greetings, Rotti," Shilo says. "I suspect we should get on with the meeting now, no?"

"Let us."

"Everett, you have my blood disease, no?" Shilo looks at me, pointedly avoiding Rotti's hardened gaze. "You need medications, like me, but they're only going to work for so long…"

"To cut to the point, we need a cure. I, myself, am not going to live much longer anyway. Everett, I'm an old, fat man. If I die, and Shilo dies, there's not going to be an owner of GeneCo," Rotti tells me, his face straight.

"So, you expect me to help find you one?" I question.

"No. We expect you to undergo heavy testing, every other day, with me," Shilo says. "Rotti is going to try various things on us, but I can't tell you if it'll work…"

My gaze travels up to the raised metal ceiling, before nodding. "Okay. I approve of this plan."

"Good." Rotti beams, while Shilo's expression still remains somber. "We'll start testing tomorrow. See you then." He claps, and the two female bodyguards escort me to the elevator and out the front door of GeneCo.

_vii. [Nicole]_

I'm breathing heavily underneath my overcoat as I slip, unnoticed, into an alley out of the bounds of the city. I know I'm not supposed to be here; I know I'm not allowed to leave the city at all, unless I want to risk death punishment. But I must do this, for Everett.

I force my mind to think of him- being tested in a lab with Rotti and Shilo, the radiations seeping into his body and organs. He can't afford repossession if the lasers damage him. This is just another motivation for me to enact my plan.

Quietly, I knock on a wooden, half-rotted door. "Hello?" I whisper, my mind devoid of everything except for saving Everett.

Thirteen and a half days.

Thirteen and half days that I've been without zydrate, without any surgery.

Thirteen and half days that I've been working for Leslie as a graverobber.

Thirteen and a half days that I've been risking my life to find Everett a cure- by working and hunting down possible anti-GeneCo surgeons.

I've been avoiding the zydrate as much as possible, because I realize, with a clear mind, it's easier to think, plan, and react. It also helps my appearance- I don't look quite as baggy-eyed, my already pale complexion not as grayed. The surgeons want to help you much more when they know you're not just hallucinating.

I rap the door one more time, before starting to turn away in disgust, but the door opens. I spin back around, trying to recover myself.

"Greetings," the old man rasps. "Come inside, I may be able to help you." He nods, standing to the side to let me in.

"Thanks," I say gratefully, shrugging the cold away as I step into the eerily dark home. "What did you say your name was again?"

The old man hesitates for a moment, before answering in a wavering voice, "Nathan. Nathan Wallace."


End file.
